


Destructive Chemistry

by Gabemu



Series: Destructive Chemistry [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 09:50:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17506331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabemu/pseuds/Gabemu
Summary: This work was created from a prompt posted by @EchoSilverWolf so this is dedicated to her <3, to the always wonderful @GizmoTrinket and Macki for their infinite patience and for being my betas for this,my first work...I'M SO EXCITED AAAAAHI really hope you like this <3I'm not good at summaries so you'll just have to read it to know what is it about, haha!also, as I don't have anything against Sherlolly I just want you to know that this is not a Sherlolly fic.thanks for your time <3





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EchoSilverWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSilverWolf/gifts), [GizmoTrinket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GizmoTrinket/gifts), [potentiallyAWKWARD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiallyAWKWARD/gifts).



> This work was created from a prompt posted by @EchoSilverWolf so this is dedicated to her <3, to the always wonderful @GizmoTrinket and Macki for their infinite patience and for being my betas for this,my first work...I'M SO EXCITED AAAAAH  
> I really hope you like this <3
> 
> I'm not good at summaries so you'll just have to read it to know what is it about, haha!  
> also, as I don't have anything against Sherlolly I just want you to know that this is not a Sherlolly fic.
> 
> thanks for your time <3

It was Christmas and Molly could barely breathe. She was invited to a Christmas dinner by the love of her life, the one reason why her heart almost stopped in her chest every time she saw a mop of curly black hair and a tall lean figure walk into the morgue. His name was Sherlock Holmes, and she had been trying to build the courage to let him know her feelings for him since the moment they met, and tonight she was determined to do just that.

Molly took her new dress out of the wardrobe nervously and put it on very carefully, so as to not mess up her special hairstyle and took a look at herself in the mirror. She was a very modest woman but she felt no shame in admitting that she looked very good in her new tight, black dress, the little sparkling zircons decorating the top combined with the flower shaped pin in her hair and her big rounded earrings. She looked _sexy_ and the sight filled her with new confidence in herself, confidence that she hoped not to lose in front of Sherlock as she always seemed to do.

Wrapping herself in a big, black coat and a brown scarf, she took the presents she bought a month ago and left her home, taking a cab to 221B Baker Street.

 

           *************************************

Meanwhile at Baker Street, Mrs Hudson and John finished setting the table and fixed some minor details for the flat’s decoration. They had just finished when Sherlock finally emerged from his room in a dark tailored suit and The Purple Shirt that made John’s mouth water.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Sherlock after sharing a kiss with John, who had his arms wrapped around Sherlock’s waist and was placing little kisses around his neck.

 “Of course I am, love,” said John, looking at him, apparently concerned. “I’m completely sure about finally letting the cat out the bag. They are our friends and I’m sure they’ll be fine with our plans for the future, and if they’re not they can piss off. Are _you_ sure?”

 Sherlock visibly relaxed, smiling and kissing him softly. “I am, absolutely, John. I was concerned about your reaction at the risk of rejection after,” Sherlock waved a hand between them “…this, but I’m happy to know it’s all fine for you… I love you.”

John was still surprised to hear the detective, who had so fervently claimed that “sentiment was for idiots and he would never have any interest in being a victim of such destructive chemistry” just a few months ago, was capable of saying such words to him full of the deepest love John had ever known, just as deep as John loved him back.

“I love you too, Sherlock.”

They let go of each other when Mrs. Hudson emerged from the kitchen carrying the heavy turkey. John hurried to help her, taking it from her hands and carrying it to the table while Sherlock took his violin and began to play in front of the window.

After about twenty minutes the bell rang and Mrs Hudson opened the door and their first invited guest came in—Lestrade, wearing a black suit jacket with a plaid shirt with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of presents in the other. John took both items on his hands.

“Hello, Happy Christmas everyone! I hoped not to be late,” said Greg, shrugging off his coat hugging John and Mrs Hudson and shaking hands with Sherlock. Not long after, the door opened again to reveal Molly. She surprised all those present with her appearance;  she was gorgeous, or at least Greg seemed to think so going by the open-mouthed look on his face once he helped her out of her coat.

Molly’s hands shook as she handed the bag of presents to Mrs Hudson to put below the Christmas tree and blushed when kissing Sherlock’s cheek, but she did her best to cover for it, blaming the cold outside. After Mike Stamford arrived there was another short exchange of hugs, handshakes and greetings after which they all took a seat at the table, ready to enjoy dinner at last. When the time for the toast arrived, John and Sherlock stood up from their sets and began to speak, visibly nervous.

“So, first of all, I— _WE_ want to thank you all for being here,” said John, raising his cup of wine and clearing his throat before going on with his speech. “This is a very special day for us, since it’s Christmas, obviously,” he said mimicking Sherlock, who let a small smile form on his lips, “—but also because we have some important news to give you all… the thing is that… Sherlock and I… we are-”

“We are a couple and we are getting married,” interrupted Sherlock, impatient as always. John let out a sigh and exchanged a look with him before facing their visitors again, waiting for their reactions.

“Well, it’s about time, John, I was suspecting my plan had failed after all,” said Mike with a huge smile and laughing at the questioning look on his friend’s face.

“Yeah, well, the wedding thing is kind of unexpected but I’m sorry to tell you guys that we all suspected you were a couple the moment Sherlock brought you to that first crime scene,” added Greg. Mrs Hudson, of course, had known this since the beginning; Molly, however, was sitting very silent, looking somewhat shocked.

 

*********************************

Molly´s heart stopped the moment Sherlock’s words left his lips; she could physically feel her heart being ripped apart, and she could hardly breathe with the pain in her chest, trying to keep the tears from falling. “That…  that is great, boys, really,” she said, trying to fake a smile and keep her voice from shaking while she stood up looking down to the floor. “I’m so sorry, I just remembered, I had a thing… a commitment, and I just have to go. Thank you very much, see you later.”

Taking her coat and scarf she left the flat quickly, avoiding Sherlock’s stare and wiping  tears from her eyes once she was outside, unable to contain herself anymore; Molly raised a hand calling a cab to her home, avoiding the worried look the driver sent her way while she couldn’t stop weeping in the back seat.

When she got home, she went straight to the small cabinet in the kitchen where she kept the bottles of liquor she had never even glanced at before and poured herself a glass of wine. She drained it and took the bottle with her to her bedroom where she turned on the TV, not really watching anything, she just wanted some noise while the wine worked its way through her system. She didn’t feel like changing her clothes so just wrapped herself with the duvet and let the tears stream down her face until she felt numb and empty. She just wanted to forget everything about this horrendous night.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO AGAIN!! I'M SO HAPPY AND GRATEFUL FOR ALL THE SUPPORT AND ENCOURAGING WORDS.   
> To be honest I wasn't expecting you to like it so much but I'm so happy it did!! I hope you like this new chapter too.  
> So as before, I'll dedicate this work to EchoSilverWolf, for the amazing plot that inspired this, GizmoTrinket and PotentiallyAKWARD for being my wonderful betas, without them this would be a mess xD.

 

Sherlock was relieved at the positive reactions of their guests, and _friends_ (the concept was still somehow foreign to him when not applied to only John), to the news. In fact, he and John were the surprised ones, since it seemed they weren’t as good at hiding the true nature of their relationship and feelings as they have thought.

However, Molly’s reaction was not expected - at least not for him. Even when Sherlock had figured out that she felt inexplicably attracted to him long ago when they first met, he thought she had let go of the sentiment, or that the sentiment had evolved into a close friendship. Though he had never said it out loud, he had come to consider Molly as a close friend, if not his best and closest friend after John.

He had been trying to let her know how he felt through his actions, such as inviting her to have dinner at his place for one of the most important days of his life, to share the most important event of all; his engagement to John Watson.

So, the moment Molly Hooper hastily rose from the chair doing whatever possible to avoid eye contact with him, he knew something was not right, which was confirmed by a subsequent and not-at-all honest excuse about a “forgotten commitment” and a quick escape from the flat.

Everybody seemed as perplexed as him by her sudden actions and kept staring at the door Molly disappeared through. Sherlock followed her, another strange reaction caused by sentiment he supposed, but the moment he stepped outside she had already taken a cab.

He was still staring after the car when he felt John’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s ok, Sherlock, I think it is better to let her go for now,” whispered John, looking worried, but there was something else that Sherlock couldn’t quite pinpoint in his eyes. “Besides, she just took a cab. We’ll call her tomorrow, we still have guests.”

“She was lying…  why would she lie, John? She was excited to come and then… she just left, that’s not the Molly I know.”

“Hey, Sherlock, love,” John reached for his shoulders and made him turn to face him. “Listen, it’s ok. Maybe she wasn’t lying and she really forgot she had to be somewhere else. Don’t worry about it. You can try and call later. Now, let’s go back inside, you’ll catch a cold here and it is rude to leave our guests alone at the table... _people might talk,”_ said John and with a wink and a little smile. He took Sherlock’s hand in his and led him back inside the flat where the dinner continued without further events.

 

***********************************************************************

 

Molly woke up the next morning feeling like someone had been using a pneumatic drill in her brain, with the added sounds of the alarm clock for background noise.

Molly briefly considered throwing the clock across the room until she remembered it was her phone. She blindly reached for it and turned it off as fast as possible; although the shrill, ear-piercing ringing continued to reverberate painfully inside her head long after that, making her groan angrily and hate herself for drinking so much.

 

Tom, Molly’s old grumpy cat, jumped onto the bed nuzzling her cheek, and even his meows made her want to cover her ears to calm the pain of the hangover. She sat up slowly, holding her head, feeling dizzy and blinking a few times trying to remember how she ended up in this state, she didn’t have much time before she felt the bile rising quickly in her throat and had to run to the loo.

After rinsing her mouth out in the sink, she stood up and allowed herself a look at the mirror. Her new dress was crumpled, her makeup was ruined, tears had left black traces on her cheeks and her hair was a total mess. She stared at her reflection and all the terrible memories from the night before flooded her mind and she felt a pain and heaviness in her chest in addition to the monumental headache she was experiencing. She felt sick, empty and ashamed of her own naivety.

She started to cry again but did the best to breathe deeply and wipe her tears while walking back to her room and standing in front of the open closet; she had to get ready to work or she would be late, but the truth was that she didn’t feel like doing anything other than lying in her bed sleeping all day. Besides, she didn’t feel ready to face Sherlock yet and there was always the risk of him visiting Bart’s.

Taking advantage of her running nose and strangled voice, Molly called to work pretending to have the flu and took a few days for herself, she had the sick time.

Once she’d done that, she took her diary out of her bedside table along with the beloved picture of her dad that she kept inside it. She caressed it and began to write, trying not to smear the pages with her silent tears.

                                                        

                                                               **************************************************************************

 

THREE DAYS LATER

Sherlock was working on a new case for the NSY, it was a serial killer who disposed of the dismembered bodies of their victims in public areas around London. The fact that every part belonged to a different person was the main feature of interest. The DNA searches had been unfruitful so far, the only clue Sherlock had was a strange compound found in the body parts for which he needed to use Bart’s lab and pay a visit to the morgue. It would be good to talk to Molly since she wasn’t answering to any of his texts.

However, when he entered the morgue, instead of finding Molly there was one of her colleagues, an annoying and very dull man who seemed very disinclined to let him run his experiments in peace. He kept looking over Sherlock’s shoulder and complaining about “not being authorized” for doing what he needed to do.

“Where is Molly?” asked Sherlock not raising his eyes from the microscope.

“Sorry? What?” The guy seemed a bit surprised. Probably because it was the first time Sherlock acknowledged his existence since they first talked over four hours ago.

“I said, where is Molly?” repeated Sherlock rolling his eyes, how he hated having to repeat himself.

“Oh, Dr Hooper… she called in sick a couple of days ago and said she needed to take some holiday time to visit some relatives or something, too,” said the man waving a gloved hand.

“I see...that’s… quite peculiar.” Sherlock finished taking some notes, took his coat and left with no other word.

Something was not right. He knew Molly didn’t have any family, so that was just a made up excuse to not come into work. He also knew that she was the most dedicated person he had ever known--not counting himself--to her work and she wouldn’t just leave it without a good reason.

Once in the street, he fished his phone out of his pocket and dialled a number. It rang three times before someone picked it up.

“Mycroft, I have a favour to ask.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
